


The Hidden Dragon

by Aerion_Veryzes



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Game of Thrones (Video Game 2014)
Genre: AU, Character Death, Crack Treated Seriously, Dragons, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Humour, Incest, Jon Snow is King in the North, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Lyanna Mormont is a fucking badass, R plus L equals J, Smut, first fic in ages
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-02-18 10:43:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13098417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aerion_Veryzes/pseuds/Aerion_Veryzes
Summary: An alternate take on Season 7, starting with Bran 'done gone goofed', and Jon NOT being a whiny/brooding 'I don't want this, I never asked for this' kneeling idiot.Oh and dragons are awesome, that's just how it is. And Cersei's ridiculous plot armor doesn't exist.





	1. I'm a WHAT?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Daemon_Belaerys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daemon_Belaerys/gifts), [KadenIV](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KadenIV/gifts), [Avery_Fontaine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avery_Fontaine/gifts), [ScholaroftheArchive](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScholaroftheArchive/gifts), [Danivat (DannieU)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DannieU/gifts), [ssjmrxi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssjmrxi/gifts).



> I haven't written anything in YEARS, so please, be gentle.

**Well, this is a fic inspired by Daemon_Belaerys’s fic ’Last Dragon’ since we haven’t gotten an update yet I figured I might try my own hand at it, and perhaps explore a ’ship’ that I’ve always wanted to see, but so far I’ve yet to find a single one.**

 

**Ahem, on with the fic:**

 

 

**Chapter 1:**

 

**Bran:**

 

Bran was just about to tell Sansa about how beautiful she looked in her wedding dress before he halted himself. He knew that he wasn’t Bran anymore, or not only Bran. He was… more, but his emotions were so different. Dull, distant, that and he’d been alone for so long with only Meera, Jojen and Hodor for company that he’d quite frankly forgotten the concept of tact, but now that he thought about it, telling Sansa how beautiful she had looked the night she was raped was probably… not the best idea. Speaking of ideas, he feared he had already messed up, Sansa’s reaction would probably confirm it.

 

“I can see things,” he explained. “The past, even things happening right now.”

 

Sansa wrinkled her eyebrows further. “You… can see the past?” she questioned skeptically.

 

“Yes,” he nodded. “I saw Jon being born even.”

 

Sansa’s eyes widened, even if she had not been as close to Jon in their childhood as the rest of them she was still curious. “And?” she asked almost impatiently, “What did you learn.”

 

“Jon isn’t really our brother,” Bran told Sansa who gasped in denial. “He’s our cousin, born to our aunt Lyanna and Rhaegar Targaryen.”

 

“That-that’s impossible,” Sansa gasped.

 

“Bran shook his head. “I heard aunt Lyanna name him Aegon Targaryen, I saw father promise to protect him, he needs to know.”

 

“Poor Jon,” Sansa sighed. “He’s not gonna take this well you know, and then there are the northern lords, they’re not gonna take this well either.” Sansa bit her lip in thought. “Perhaps… perhaps we shouldn’t tell him, not right away, let him come back and get used to you being here first.”

 

Bran winced guiltily.

 

“Bran!” Sansa said warningly. “What did you do?”

 

“I – ah – may have already sent a raven to Dragonstone to inform him about this,” Bran admitted sheepishly.

 

“Oh Bran…” Sansa groaned as sh ran a tired hand down her face. “What were you thinking?”

 

“That Jon needed to know,” he half asked/half stated, optimism tingeing his voice.

 

Sansa huffed, much like mother had once done when she was exasperated with her children (usually Bran or Arya) “Lets get you inside and get some food into you,” she grumbled.

 

* * *

 

 

**Jon:**

 

On Dragonstone, and completely unaware of this of course was ‘Jon Snow’, and at the moment he was doing what he did better than anyone in the world, he was brooding. Standing outside near the cliffs he was staring out across the sea, admiring how the moonlight shone, all while cursing himself to the Seven Hells. What on earth had he been thinking? Trying to convince the Queen of the importance of the true war by bringing her into the cave was well and good. Getting snippy with her when she once again started bleating about bending the knee was not so good, nor was suddenly thinking about the _last_ time he’d been in a cave a capital idea.

 

Returned from the dead or not, Jon was still a mortal man, a man who hadn’t ‘indulged’ his urges in a long time, but that rather heated moment in the cave, full of tension had made him so hot and bothered that after advising Daenerys to not fly to the Crownlands and make King’s Landing glow in the dark, he’d almost run up to his room to ‘polish his sword’ as some called it. Of course, just as he’d been in the process of getting his relief the door had opened and the Queen, and her beauty of an adviser had walked in to bid him farewell due to the Queen’s impending departure.

 

Entering, the two women had arrived just in time to see him groan and shut his eyes as his cock shot his seed onto a piece of cloth. He had avoided everyone since then. The Queen had left already, thank the Gods for that, and it _was_ getting pretty late, probably late enough that Missandei, and anyone else the two women had gossiped with had gone to sleep. Just as he decided to slink back to the castle he heard a ‘swooshing’ sound, a loud ‘thump’ and then hot breath on his neck as well as a loud growling breath.

 

Turning around slowly he found himself face to teeth with the Queen’s green dragon. Rhaegal she called him, and apparently he was the wildest of the Queen’s dragons, barely obeying even her commands. He was probably going to die, which explained why he was foolish enough to remove his glove and extend his hand to rub the dragon’s scaled snout, yet, to his amazement the dragon didn’t take a huge bite out of him, nor burn him to a crisp.

 

Instead it closed its eyes and let out a deep growl of rapture, acting much like Ghost whenever someone found the right spot to scratch. Jon let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. Standing so close to a dragon, close enough that he could actually feel the warmth it brought about naturally was amazing, and tugged at something inside him.

 

Much like Dragonstone itself, standing this close to a dragon brought to life something deep within him that he had always tried to hide, a more primal side of him, the side that had made him proudly proclaim himself to be the Dragonknight, or Daeron the Young Dragon, or even the Conqueror himself during his games with Robb in his childhood. It was the part of him whose temper scared even him at times when he let it loose, the part of him that had always raged and urged him to **take** what was his, to rise above his bastard status, and what almost made him snap angrily each time the Queen demanded he bend the knee, and ever since he came back from the dead, this side had showed itself more and more.

 

Rhaegal didn’t seem to mind however and let out a deeply content purring sound as he rubbed his scaled snout against Jon’s head, almost toppling Jon to the ground, and this close, Jon’s initial reaction of fear when first seeing the dragons was replaced with awe, and longing. “You are amazing,” he told the dragon before leaning forward so that he was almost lying on top of Rhaegal’s snout.

 

Rhaegal let out a snort of hot air and withdrew his head. Jon instinctively threw out his hands to arrest his sudden fall, only to gasp in shock, or was it fear? Anger perhaps, as Rhaegal seized his cloak between his teeth and swung Jon up into the air and onto his back, and then, without even waiting for Jon to process what had just happened, Rhaegal let out a joyous roar of triumph and leaped off the cliff.

 

“RHAEGAL!” Jon shouted as he scrambled to grab hold of the spines along Rhaegal’s back before he fell off. “GET. ME…” he stopped his protests as he looked around. They’d only been in the air for perhaps a few seconds but Dragonstone was already shrinking alarmingly as the dragon soared through the air, weaving back and forth. The calm sea was beautiful, lit up in the moonlight and Jon realized that he was laughing as his cloak and hair billowed in the wind.

 

For the first time he could understand the pride that the Targaryens had been known for. Flying was **amazing** , he felt as if he could conquer the world in this very moment, and for once he just, let go. Rather than suppressing that oft hidden side of him he let it loose, joining his voice to Rhaegal’s own as he roared towards the heaven. With barely a thought Rhaegal turned effortlessly back towards the island, roaring a greeting to Viserion who came up alongside him. Again Jon made the dragon turn, much like Ghost, Rhaegal seemed to understand him without any effort required, he was… part of Jon, just as Jon was one with the dragon.

 

Just as Jon was about to get Rhaegal to return him to Dragonstone he spotted something in the distance, lights, several of them, the kind that usually were on ships. Curiously he directed Rhaegal towards the ships in the distance, Viserion following his brother. It was a small fleet, eight ships, with two masts each and two rows of oars on each side, and a foreign banner that he had never seen before, two golden triangles forming an hourglass with an open palm extending from each side on a black background, and they weren’t friendly either.

 

As he drew close the lead ship fired from an onboard scorpion, narrowly missing him, and Jon felt his blood boil. “Dracarys,” he snarled, thankful that it was still custom for nobles (and the occasional bastard like himself) in Westeros to learn High Valyrian. The ship exploded into splinters under the force of Rhaegal and Viserion’s flames hitting it dead on. Another ship, this one further behind let lose another bolt from its own scorpion, passing by Jon so close that he could feel the draft of it. A few seconds later and the remains of the ship were floating in the sea, still steaming from the heat.

 

The crew on the remaining ships lost whatever fighting spirit they had left and swiftly ran up white flags to the top of their masts. Though still a novice when it came to flying, Rhaegal was more than clever enough to understand him and slowly maneuvered himself so that he was basically just floating in the air close to the lead ship, his great form rising and sinking slowly with every flap of his powerful wings. He was close enough that Jon could spot the pale faces of the sailors on board, close enough that the sailors could see Jon point towards Dragonstone, the gesture was clear, ‘Sail to Dragonstone or I’ll continue’.

 

None of the sailors seemed eager to tempt fate, so they turned their ships towards the island that was barely visible in the distance, the lights from its windows visible through the darkness. First one and then the rest followed. Thanks to their oarsmen the trip didn’t take as long as Jon thought, and it was still dark when the six ships all beached on Dragonstone, where near a thousand of the Queen’s soldiers, some dothraki and some unsullied were waiting for them. Seeing some room, Jon urged Rhaegal down, and the dragon landed between the ships and the Queen’s soldiers with a ‘thump’ and reared back on his legs and roared. Once Rhaegal was done with his posturing he lowered his wing to allow Jon to step off.

 

Back on the ground, Jon gave Rhaegal one last rub and pat on the nose and stepped back to allow Rhaegal to jump into the air again. Turning he saw Lord Varys, Missandei, Davos, and most of the Queen’s soldiers stare at him with wide eyes and mouths agape.

 

“How?” Varys asked him as Jon walked over to him.

 

Jon shrugged slightly. “I guess he took a liking to me,” he explained. “Anyhow these ships attacked me, so I thought I’d best get them over here.”

 

Varys studied the ships for a moment before letting out a satisfied titter. “This is going to make Cersei _very_ angry.”

 

Jon frowned and looked back to the ships, where the crew were already being taken away at sword point. “What do you mean?”

 

“These ships belong to the Iron Bank,” Varys explained, “And are no doubt filled to the brim with all the gold Cersei has just confiscated from the Reach to pay off the Iron Bank.”

 

Jon joined in the laughter now, who would have guessed that going on a seemingly random dragonride would lead to him inconveniencing Cersei that much. “I can imagine that this will sour her day,” he admitted with a snigger.

 

“Just so,” Varys agreed. “It is late Lord Snow, perhaps we should all get some more sleep while the Queen’s men take the prisoners to suitable accommodations.”

 

Now that the adrenaline had left him, Jon felt the exhaustion hit him, so he was more than amenable to agree to Varys’ suggestion, so he merely nodded and started to trudge up to the castle with Davos following him.

 

“We can talk tomorrow,” Jon told Davos when he opened his mouth to speak. Fortunately the old smuggler kept his silence and it was a barely conscious Jon who undressed and collapsed on top of his bed.

 

* * *

 

 

**Varys:**

 

Ever since Jon Snow made an entrance on dragonback that would have impressed even Daenerys, Varys’ mind had been going in a hundred different directions. How had he managed to make the dragon accept him? What would this mean for the future? How would the Queen react to the King in the North stealing one of her dragons, or possibly even two since Viserion had also followed Snow, but perhaps that could be explained away with the last dragon simply following his brother.

 

Thought had then turned to Snow, or rather the mystery that was Jon Snow. At first he had entertained the notion that perhaps Eddard Stark had lain with a Velaryon, but he had swiftly discarded that idea. There were no female Velaryons the right age for Snow’s conception, and even if there were, he failed to see how Eddard Stark would have managed to lure one into his bed during the Rebellion.

 

For the briefest moment he had the foolish thought that Jon Snow was Lyanna Stark’s child by Rhaegar Targaryen. The timeline fit, but he discarded the idea with a laugh, it would be **far** too convenient. It fit so well that it was simply ridiculous, that is until a letter arrived from Winterfell, bearing the seal of House Stark, and signed by the previously presumed dead Brandon Stark, explaining how Jon Snow was actually Aegon Targaryen, born in Dorne to Lyanna Stark, and Varys had felt a migraine approach.

 

For all that it seemed so obvious that it should have been discovered ages ago it fit. None would question Eddard Stark’s word. Eddard Stark might have dishonoured his wife, but then, even the best of men might seek solace in war, but the notion of Eddard Stark lying to everyone, including the man who was as a brother to him had never entered the mind of anyone, himself included. And yet as he thought about it, it all fit. Was Eddard Stark the sort of man who would sully his own honour to hide away the son of his beloved sister? Without a doubt, and then there was the Kingsguard to consider. Why would Ser Arthur Dayne, Oswell Whent and Lord Commander Gerold Hightower himself guard the mistress or rape victim of a dead Prince when the Queen and ‘King’ Viserys were on Dragonstone all alone?

 

Only Lyanna Stark bearing Rhaegar’s trueborn child and as such lawful heir would make the Kingsguard stay in Dorne with Lyanna Stark when all seemed lost. Of course, if Lyanna Stark bore Rhaegar’s trueborn child, that would mean that Rhaegar had wed her, and if Rhaegar had wed her that meant documentation, and if there was _one_ thing Varys was good at, it was sniffing out documentation. Barely had he read the letter before he had sent off messages to all his little birds to try and find any proof it it all, that Jon Snow or Aegon as his name apparently was, was a son of Rhaegar was without question. Rhaegal had confirmed that, all that remained was to see how the young man reacted, after all, Varys could burn the letter without running the risk of being found out later if the King in the North spoke to his cousin.

 

“This...” Aegon, as Varys had decided to start calling him, swallowed. “This cannot be true.”

 

“On the contrary… Your Grace,” Varys said softly. “I think you will find that it fits perfectly, the presence of the Kingsguard in Dorne when their King, Prince Rhaegar and both his children were dead, even the dates fit.”

 

Aegon collapsed, sliding down to sit on the floor with his back against a pillar, his hands trembling, while his face wore a grimace of grief and fury, something that Varys noted, brought out the Targaryen in him. How often had he not seen Rhaegar with the same expression every time Aerys burned a man or raped Rhaella after said burning, and Varys almost laughed at the absurdity that none had ever sniffed out the truth, as well as take a brief moment to admire the masterful mummery that Eddard Stark had performed.

 

“All my life,” he mumbled. “All my life the man I thought to be my father lied to me.”

 

“To protect you no doubt,” Varys tried to placate him.

 

Aegon snarled angrily. “I can understand not telling me the truth when I was a child, but I was seventeen, **seventeen** , when he allowed me to throw away my life in the Night’s Watch, yet another thing he lied to me about. All my life I was told that there was honour to be found in the Night’s Watch, that even a bastard could rise high there.” Aegon laughed bitterly. “You know his last words to me? Next time we see each other, we’ll talk about your mother.” Aegon slammed and angry fist down on the stone floor. “I was about to swear myself to an order filled with murderers, thieves and rapists for the rest of my life and he lied straight to my face.”

 

“You knew him better than I,” Varys admitted.

 

“It feels as if I didn’t know him at all,” Aegon admitted angrily as he looked down and laid eyes on the direwolf embossed gorget around his neck. “All my life I wanted to be a Stark, begged and pleaded with to the Old Gods to remove my bastard surname and make me true, and now it turns out that I was never a Stark to begin with,” he removed the gorget and flung it away angrily. “Never once did he call me his son did you know that?” Aegon asked as a look of realization crossed his face. “I used to think that he was ashamed over me, that he accepted me because of his guilt over breaking his vows and dishonouring my mother.”

 

“I can understand that you are angry,” Varys admitted, “even so, I doubt that Eddard Stark was willfully malicious to you.”

 

Aegon let out a deep sigh and stood up. “No he wasn’t,” he admitted. “But he could have done a **hell** of a lot more without compromising my safety, at the very least he could have let me swear away my life with the knowledge of who I truly was, rather than the mask of lies he had forced upon me.”

 

“Where are you going?” Varys asked as Aegon started to stomp towards the doors.

 

“I’m going to find my sword, and then I am going to find a few of those dothraki and see if any of them are spoiling for a fight, I **need** to hit something.”

 

As soon as Aegon had exited the throne room, Varys turned and locked eyes with Missandei who looked shocked and somewhat sad. “That went better than I expected,” he admitted.

 

“Poor man,” Missandei said. “To learn your whole life has been a lie.”

 

“Yes,” Varys admitted, “The King in the North has had his share of hardship it seems.”

 

Of course, neither Varys, nor Missandei could have guessed just how much hardship the King in the North had suffered. They had both trailed out after him at Varys’ suggestion. He had wanted to see Aegon’s skill for himself, and unless Aegon found one of the dothraki who spoke the common tongue, he would need her translation skills.

 

He needn’t have worried apparently. Snow had found one who spoke the common tongue, as he was already squaring off against one of the dothraki, his shining blade clashing against the curved arakh of his opponent, worrying Varys at the speed they swung their blades with, both weapons were lethal after all, and neither of them wore armour, clad simply in boots and trousers. They had attracted quite a crowd, over a hundred of the dothraki stood in a circle around the two fighters, all of them looking impressed, and then the two fighters turned and Varys felt his mouth drop while Missandei let out a horrified gasp. _‘How does he live?’_ he asked himself as he laid eyes on the six deep scars that littered Aegon’s torso, including a sickle shaped one across his heart. ‘ _He took a knife to the heart for his people, he gave his life,’_ he remembered Tyrion informing him of Ser Davos’ words during the first meeting between Aegon and the Queen, and the apparently warning glare, Aegon had shot his adviser.

 

Aegon stepped out of the way of yet another strike of his opponent and gave him a good kick to the knee, felling the large dothraki. He made a ‘come here’ gesture and two more stepped into the impromptu ring to face off against the King, and Varys had to admit he was impressed. Rumours of ‘Jon Snow’s’ skill with a sword had reached even this far south, and if anything they failed to do him justice, though Varys could see why some people thought Aegon to be Arthur Dayne’s nephew, as he was swaying dodging and ducking between his three opponents, all of them larger than he was, and yet it were the dothraki who were on the defensive, Aegon’s blade whistling through the air with uncanny speed and precision, and then in a masterful combination of moves he disarmed one, cut through the arakh of another, dodged the arakh of the last man and with a sweeping slash left a thin red line across the barrelled chests of each of his opponents.

 

Roars of approval erupted from the spectators, many of them who slapped Aegon on the back or nodded respectfully, while his three opponents all cut of their braids and threw them at Aegon’s feet. Aegon must know something about dothraki culture at least, since he picked up the three severed braids and put them in his belt, before walking over to Ser Davos who stood beside Varys and Missandei.

 

“Did that help Yer Grace?” Davos asked cautiously while handing over a large pail of water that Aegon upended over his head, drenching himself. He shook his head slightly to get rid of some of the water in his hair before slicking it back.

 

“Not really,” he admitted, again causing Varys to want to slap his forehead, how in the name of all the Gods had he not seen it before. That broody/angry pout was so Rhaegar that it wasn’t even funny. Aegon looked at Varys. “Can you arrange for some armour to be brought to me?”

 

Varys frowned. “Armour?”

 

“Aye,” Aegon nodded. “Daenerys and her riders should have made landfall a few hours ago, if I fly I will no doubt catch up to them before they can intercept the army that sacked the Reach.”

 

“You intend to help all of a sudden?” Varys stated with a smug smile.

 

“I’m not a miner so I might as well be taking shits here,” Aegon admitted surly, “Since I can apparently fly Rhaegal I might as well help, one dragon is better than two,” he said with a sly chuckle that Varys shared to Ser Davos’ confusion. “The sooner the situation in the south is dealt with the sooner I can get her to help me with the war that truly matters.”

 

“Wait here...Your Grace,” Varys tittered while making an exaggerated bow. “I’m certain I can scrounge up some armour for you.”

 

Near an hour later, Varys struggled to keep his face blank, while Aegon did his best to promise brutal murder with his eyes. Daenerys had had the dungeons and cellars searched through when she first took the isle, and had been as surprised as everyone else that Stannis had merely shoved everything remotely targaryen into the cellars and dungeons rather than sell it or throw it out, which was why Varys had had a rare uncontrolled cackle when he found one of the suits of armour that Rhaegar had owned, the irony of sending Rhaegar’s secret son out in hid dead father’s armour was not lost on Varys, and Aegon had heard the armour Rhaegar wore on the Trident described often enough to realize to whom the set of armour he was being fitted into had belonged. Truly the only difference was that instead of actual rubies, the three headed dragon was enamelled onto the breastplate instead.

 

It wasn’t until the armour was fully fastened and Rhaegal had landed behind Aegon that Ser Davos suddenly gasped. “Fook me,” he gasped. “Yer fookin shitting me.”

 

“I’m afraid not,” Varys tittered as Aegon let his hair fall free instead of in a bun so that he could actually put a helmet on his head. His hear flowing in the exact style that Rhaegar used was apparently what finally tipped Davos off.

 

“We’ll talk about this later Davos,” Aegon snapped before lowering the dragon winged helmet onto his head.

 

“As Yer Grace commands,” Davos laughed while making an extravagant bow.

 

Aegon threw his hands into the air with frustration and angrily clambered up Rhaegal’s wing before seating himself on his back, where he hooked himself into the primitive harness he had ordered made, and Varys wondered why the Queen hadn’t had one made, it was well known that other dragonriders had used harnesses on their dragons that they fastened themselves to with the aid of chains, a fact that Aegon had remembered apparently.

 

“Let us hope his temper has cooled by the time he returns,” Varys remarked to Ser Davos after Aegon and Rhaegal took to the skies, Viserion following them.

 

Davos chuckled. “One thing’s for sure, the fookin Lannisters have no idea what’s coming to them.”

 

**Well, that’s that. This is obviously more of a crackfic than a serious piece of fiction, but I liked writing it. Now as you can see Jon is actually wearing armour unlike a certain blonde that does not need to be named, which makes me wonder.**

 

**EDIT: Right, after some feedback, and some thinking back and forth on me own I've decided to not kill Dany.**

 

**Oh and lastly. Jon will, from this point on be referred to as Aegon, both by others as well as in his ‘internal’ thoughts. I do this because, I feel that if I had found out that my whole life has basically been a lie I would probably not think of myself as ‘just Jon’ either, of course, I haven’t been in that situation so I can’t tell either way, but that is the way I’m going in this fic.**

 

**Lastly, as you can see I’m going ‘mostly’ with show canon, such as Jon being 17 instead of 14 when he goes to the wall, but there will be more than enough ‘book canon’ mixed in too.**

 

**Please read and review :)**


	2. The Spoils of War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> History repeats itself as the Reach and Westerlands experience a second Field of Fire

**Warnings for this chapter: Descriptive violence, men burning alive, character death.**

 

 

**Chapter 2:**

 

**Dany.**

 

Dany could almost _feel_ her blood burning when Drogon crested the hill and flew towards the Lannister lines. Beneath her tens of thousands of horses rode, her dothraki all eager for blood, as was evident from their shouts and hollers, their arakhs raised to the skies. And then came the second roar and Dany blanched. She _knew_ that roar. Rhaegal her second child, and the most unruly one besides Drogon, though that had started to change after she rode Drogon, her largest child now fully bonded with her, and while Viserion still remained her ‘sweetest’ child, Rhaegal had been more disruptive than ever, more often than not requiring Drogon to roar threateningly at him to make him obey, and for a moment she thought that Rhaegal had yet again defied her, until she laid eyes on him.

 

As Rhaegal dove down from the clouds Dany felt her heart skip a beat, _someone_ was riding on the back of her child, _someone_ clad from head to toe in black armour. ‘ _How?’_ she thought wondrously, ‘ _who could make Rhaegal allow him to be ridden?’_ A question for later though she decided.

 

Whoever rode Rhaegal was definitely on her side as the rider and her child pulled up gracefully from the dive to fly a short distance to her left, the rider, clad in black plate with the red three headed dragon of her House on his chest looked at her for a moment. The closed helm obscured the identity of the rider, a pair of red dragon wings on either side. The rider nodded at her and then turned his gaze towards the rapidly enclosing Lannister line, and as if on instinct, both Dany and the rider shouted **“DRACARYS”** and both Drogon and Rhaegal opened their maws and bathed the space in front of them with dragonfire.

 

Whereas Dany continued to fly straight ahead, burning a path perhaps six or seven men wide, and five deep and then on to torching a dozen heavily laden carts, the other rider had banked to the right shortly before hitting the Lannister lines and then pulled away, and as Dany looked behind her, she could see a stretch of perhaps a hundred yards engulfed in flame, and hundreds of men either screaming or reduced to ash. Rhaegal’s rider had been smart enough to fly along with the Line rather than through it, as such he had reaped a horrific toll on his one run, and already he was climbing steeply into the air, easily avoiding the few arrows sent after her, if only her dothraki had been so fortunate.

 

**Jaime:**

 

Jaime could feel his heart pump wildly in his throat as he pushed Widow’s Wail through the hart of another dothraki. He had been nervous enough when what had to be tens of thousands of dothraki crested the hill to come charging, and then came the Dragoon Queen, mounted on an immense large black dragon, flying above the heads of her army. Just as both he and Bronn had thought that things couldn’t possibly be worse, a second dragon had come diving down from the skies to take up position beside the Dragon Queen, the second dragon, green rather than black had not been as large as the Queen’s dragon, but hardly small, and once they were close enough that Jaime could spot out individual features on the riders a faint “Rhaegar” had slipped from his lips. Twas the same armour, down to the flowing scarlet cape that was fluttering in the wind, and the rider sat a saddle just as well as the Silver Prince had ever done, and then... **hell**.

 

Hundreds, if not over a thousand of Jaime’s army of fifteen thousand disappeared into explosions of ash and bone in seconds, and then the dothraki came. Jaime had heard a lot about the dothraki. They were universally feared in Essos, even Robert was afraid of them, yet as he saw them in action he almost scratched his head in befuddlement.

 

The wast majority of his forces were clad in armour and carried large shields and long spears, and yet these savage barbarians rode straight at them, firing arrows from short bows that for the most part bounced off of armor, far from a match of a proper westerosi longbow that was reaping a fearsome toll on the sea of cavalry, clad for the most part in leather, or bare chested. ‘ _What on earth are they doing in Essos?’_ Jaime wondered to himself, and he swiftly realized why the spear and shield phalanxes of the Unsullied, or the westerosi tactics of the Golden Company had done so well against the dothraki for so long.

 

The savage fools were charging straight at them, apparently not remembering the fact that you couldn’t get a horse to willingly charge a forest of sharpened metal points, and if he was to hazard a guess eight out of ten men who made contact with his lines lost their lives, or their horse. A few broke through and started swinging their curved blades, more often than not a useless gesture against proper armour, and if there was one thing Tywin first, and then Jaime had made sure of it was that every soldier in the Westerlands army wore at a minimum a padded gambeson with mail byrnie on top, and from what he had seen, so did Lord Tarly’s forces.

 

A good deal more broke through where the dragons had carved big holes in their lines, their horses braving the flames, and he knew that it would be up to his individual officers to keep the men in line. If they could hold their nerve and discipline, they might at least break the Queen’s army, but looking at the big dragons that turned to make yet another pass he doubted it. “Bronn,” he said with a strangled voice as the deadly sellsword came across him. “Qyburn’s scorpion is over there.”

 

“Well go get it then,” the Sellsword snarked, he too looked stressed, and all too aware of how fucked they might be.

 

“I can’t shoot with one hand,” Jaime said sourly. “Kill those dragons and I’ll give you any castle and highborn beauty you want.”

 

Bronn looked close to protesting before he rode off with a mocking “ _My Lord.”_

 

**Aegon:**

 

Aegon shook his head slightly as he watched Daenerys and Drogon burned yet another row of carts. ‘ _What are you doing?’_ he asked himself. That was perhaps one of, if not the last harvest before winter, and Daenerys had already complained about the lack of food. Rather than go in for another pass, though it was sorely needed from what he could see on the ground, he needed to reign in his aunt before she burned up every scrap of food there was. Leaning forward, and ‘nudging’ Rhaegal with his thoughts, he grinned slightly as the big dragon turned elegantly in the air and flew towards where Daenerys and Drogon were, diving slightly to pick up speed so that after a few moments upon where Daenerys burned even more food he was finally side by side with her and Drogon, close enough hopefully that she could hear his voice.

 

“BURN THE MEN,” He shouted, “WE NEED THE FOOD.”

 

Daenerys looked angrily at him, and looked close to delivering an angry retort, but did nod after hesitating for a moment, all the while she looked slightly confused, no doubt trying to recognize his voice, not an easy feat over the sound of the blowing wind, and the helmet warping his tone. Before he could even think of turning Rhaegal back towards the other side of the field a shower of arrows hit them and Aegon flinched instinctively as half a dozen hit hit armour with alarming clanging sounds, though fortunately none of them managed to punch through the steel that he was clad in, _Daenerys_ however.

 

Aegon looked worriedly over at his aunt who had screamed out in pain and he could see why, an arrow had punched deep into her shoulder, and she was keeled over slightly. Looking around angrily he finally spotted the large cluster of archers that had dared to fire upon them, and without a second thought he let go of the beast that had slumbered inside of his chest since he first took to the air on top of Rhaegal.

 

Rider and dragon alike roared in anger, and with a steep dive Rhaegal suddenly spread his wings and turned almost ninety degrees, flying in a circle around the terrified archers as he bathed them in flames so hot that they left naught but ash and pools of molten steel behind. After one last turn Rhaegal banked the other way and hovered over the largest concentration of men. Where before the entire Lannister and Reach army had been one long continuous line it was now a shambles. Two score of small ‘battles’ unfolding as individual officers tried to keep some form of discipline and coherence on their forces, desperately fending off the dothraki who mercilessly rode down any straggler.

 

Near the centre of the battlefield was a large group, formed into an almost perfect circle, shields overlapping with a core of archers in the middle,  and the entire shieldwall was bristling with spears, the men hunched down, and braced for attack. ‘ _This one is good,’_ Aegon thought angrily as he watched the corpses of hundreds of men and horses around the large  schiltron moving slowly away from the main carnage, and towards where he knew the closest bridge that crossed the Blackwater Rush was, having flown past it earlier.

 

‘ _Oh no you_ _don't_ _,’_ He thought savagely as he spurred Rhaegal towards the schiltron. These men had murdered his family, or at the very least fought for the ones who had orchestrated the many painful losses he’d had experienced over the years, all the way back apparently to the brutal senseless murders of his true brother and sister. Their Lords more interested in the ‘Game of Thrones’ than to serve the Realm. How many letters had he sent out begging for men when he was still Lord Com mander of the Night’s Watch? The numbers eluded him, but there were a _lot_ , most of them didn’t even have the courtesy of writing a letter of refusal. How many of these highborn privileged cunts knew exactly what Cersei was, or Joffrey and Tywin had been? Everyone knew what Tywin stood for, a man so caught up with his own greed that he even rewarded someone for the act of breaking Guest Right, but none of that mattered, not so long as they could beg for the scraps from the Lannisters table.

 

“ **Dracarys,”** Aegon spoke harshly as Rhaegal came to a stop but a few yards away from the large grouping of men. Opening his mouth Rhaegal let out a ferocious stream of flame, the backblast of heat so strong that even Aegon should have caught aflame, he was not immune to fire after all, as had been proven when he burned his hand saving Lord Commander Mormont’s life, but none of that mattered, he could contemplate why he did not feel more than a slightly pleasant rise of temperature, compared to the poor sods who stood close enough that, even though Rhaegal’s flames never touched them, they still burst into flame from the heated air, their skin and flesh sloughing off their bones in an instant, and all while this happened Aegon felt _nothing_. These men had made their choices, a horde of tens of thousands of riders, and two large dragons, and still they fought. He respected their choice, but felt nothing for how they died, or why.

 

And then a, like a crack of thunder a monstrous sound of fury and agony rent the air and Aegon and Rhaegal both turned instinctively, ‘ _Drogon, Daenerys,’_ Aegon thought worriedly, having recognized the source of the scream immediately, and he felt his heart miss a beat, even as Rhaegal sped up the beats of his wings. In front of him he could see Drogon tumbling towards the ground, his wing bent at a strange angle, and perhaps fifty feet above the surface of the water he spun around in the air, causing Aegon to let out a scream of denial as he saw Daenerys lose her grip and fall off.

 

For one horrible moment, time seemed to stand still. He was just close enough that he could barely see the features of her face, screwed up in terror, and looking straight at him, and then she fell and hit the water with a big splash. ‘ _Down Rhaegal, down,’_ he pleaded desperately, ‘ _To your mother,’_ and Rhaegal did not disappoint, he dived so fast that even with the almost fully closed helm on, Aegon could feel his eyes watering at the speed. Glancing to the right for a moment he could see that Drogon had recovered from his injury enough to land beside the large ballista like device that had wounded him, a moment later and the weapon was reduced to ash while it’s operator no doubt ran as if the demons of all the Seven Hells were behind him.

 

He let out a grunt as Rhaegal landed on the ground so hard that it almost knocked the breath out of him. Struggling with the chains for a moment he gave it up. His hands were shaking too much to focus, instead he drew Longclaw and sliced through the leather harness so that he could slip loose, and jumped off of Rhaegal who was shuffling back and forth,  ready to reduce any fool who came close enough to ash.

 

Aegon however waded into the water until he found Daenerys who was floating lifelessly. “Dany,” heg gasped as he picked her up in his arms, opening the visor to get some additional air. “Please don’t be dead,” he begged as he turned her face towards his, only to let out a sigh of relief as she blearily opened her eyes. Even with blood staining the area around her shoulder, her other arm broken and her hair wet and all over the place she was still beautiful.

 

“Serys,” she mumbled in wonder, and Aegon almost snorted. Here he comes to rescue her from drowning and she calls him by her brother’s name.

 

“Shh,” He cooed at her as he started to wade back towards Rhaegal, “Everything will be alright,” he reassured her as he carried her into Rhaegal’s back and started to fasten her into the harness, doing his best not to flinch when she moaned in pain whenever he jostled her arm. Due to having cut himself out earlier he had to improvise a bit, but he eventually solved the problem by cutting out some strips from her cloak to bind the ragged harness as best he could while gazing around wildly, only to spot Tyrion, and a few of Daenerys’ bloodriders atop one of the nearby hills.

 

Just as he was about to send Rhaegal flying he spotted two people riding towards him, Ser Jaime Lannister, and a bit father behind and to the side was the man who had shot Drogon out of the sky,  ** “Fly to Tyrion,”  ** Aegon commanded Rhaegal in valyrian,  ** “Get your mother to safety,” ** though Rhaegal was hesitant, he too wanted to stay, to kill and burn, but in the end he did as Aegon commanded and as soon as Aegon slipped to the ground Rhaegal took flight and blasted towards where Tyrion was.

 

Now on foot, Aegon held his nerve as the Kingslayer bore down on him, a spear couched underneath his left arm like a lance. While never the greatest jouster, Aegon had enough experience to see when a man was struggling, and Ser Jaime was decidedly not used to jousting with a lance in his left arm.  Slowly unsheathing Longclaw, Aegon held the sword in both hands as the Kingslayer bore down on him, before at the last minute he dropped to the ground. Releasing his hold on Longclaw he picked up the spear lying beside him and surged forward while placing the full force of his body into the thrust.

 

Both horse and rider both realized what had happened just a moment too late, and though the horse tried to veer away its own momentum worked against it as it impaled itself on the spear in Aegon’s hand, driving it over a foot into its chest before snapping. Whinnying in panic and agony the horse thrashed about on the ground before finally falling still. Before Aegon could move on the Kingslayer however the other rider came to Ser Jaime’s rescue, placing himself between Aegon and Ser Jaime.

 

Only instinct had saved Aegon from being struck by the man’s sword, throwing himself clear just in the nick of time. He landed on the ground with a grunt of pain at the impact, fortunately Longclaw was within reach and his hand clenched around the ensorcelled blade. Rolling to the side he barely dodged the horse’s stamping hooves and he swung Longclaw in an arc, shearing through both of the horse’s front legs, grinning slightly at the ‘Oh for fook’s sake,’ the horse rider let out as he leapt clear of the useless horse.

 

Getting to his feet Aegon was faced with both Ser Jaime and the other man, both of them with swords in hand, and upon getting a better look at the blade in Ser Jaime’s hand he felt his blood boil hot. Sansa had told him what Tywin Lannister had done with Ice, and to see the ancestral blade of his mother’s House, the blade wielded by the man who was the closest thing to a father he had ever known in the hands of a man whose family had committed such crimes against his own left him near blind with fury, his gaze so narrow that a whole army of dragons could have flown by, all the he noticed was the Kingslayer, the blade in his hand, and the Kingslayer’s friend.

 

“We meet again Kingslayer,” Aegon said coldly.

 

Ser Jaime blanched. “I was under the impression that Viserys was dead, so who are you?” he asked Aegon as both he and his friend started to slowly circle him.

 

“You don’t remember me?” Aegon asked with a laugh. “You who thanked me so for protecting you all from the horrors beyond the Wall,” Aegon removed his helmet and flung it aside, the vision it provided was too narrow for this, and he could breathe much better without it. “That sword belonged to my uncle before your bastard son killed him under false pretences,” Aegon snarled, causing Jaime’s eyes to widen in recognition, and realization.

 

“Of course,” he breathed out, near in awe before laughing gaily. “Eddard Stark fooled us all it seems,” his eyes narrowed. “It will give me no pleasure to kill Rhaegar’s last son...but we all have our duties don’t we?”

 

“Aye,” Aegon admitted, “We do,” and then he swung around, just in time to deflect the sword that was coming towards him, having read the look in Ser Jaime’s eyes.

 

“You’re good,” his opponent admitted as he struck again, this time with his left fist.

 

“Indeed,” Aegon acknowledged the compliment as he turned just enough for the man’s fist to strike his metal pauldron, causing him to retreat while swearing angrily in pain. But a year or two ago the move would probably have been successful, but after fighting Karl Tanner, and dozens of the Freefolk and wights, Aegon knew more than many about the arts of ‘fighting dirty,’ something the man discovered just to late as he raised his blade to defend himself, only to crumble to his knees after Aegon’s spiked sabaton drove itself into his groin, drawing his foot back he stomped the man on the face hard enough that his skull broke, cutting short his panicked screams, his eyes popped out, and a foul stench hit the air as the man’s bowels released.

 

“Tis just you and I now Kingslayer,” Aegon said coldly as he turned towards Jaime who was staring at him with a stricken look.

 

For all that he was fighting left handed, Ser Jaime handled himself well, diverting or blocking every one of Aegon’s probing attacks. “Fight me properly boy,” Ser Jaime roared after he blocked yet another attack from Aegon.

 

“Very well,” Aegon replied. Shameful as it was to admit it, he had been dragging the fight out, wanting to play with the man, humiliate him for everything he, his sister, father and cruel bastard son had inflicted upon his own family. Raising Longclaw Aegon charged in again, this time with murder in his eyes.

 

**Tyrion:**

 

Tyrion was gaping. The battle was just about over, and he stills struggled to understand just what had happened. The appearance of Rhaegal with a rider on top had been but the first shock, and then the carnage of battle itself. What the dothraki lacked in tactics they made up for in numbers and pure savagery, slowly but surely grinding down the Lannister army in an orgy of violence the far exceeded that of the Battle of the Blackwater, and then there had been the dragons themselves. Rhaegal in particular had proven murderous as he burned out stretches of panicking men, scores of yards at a time, while the Queen at first concentrated mostly on the ill gotten loot from the Reach, she too had soon enough started to focus on the soldiers.

 

Ash and smoke hung heavy in the air, and the smell of burning flesh was so thick that even the dothraki with him were gagging at it. Said dothraki themselves were just as stupefied at the mystery rider as he was, and to his concern he heard more than one mutter ‘Ish  Z havvorsa  Khal’ which from his little knowledge of dothraki meant ‘Great or Mighty Dragonlord or Khal’.

 

He knew that the dothraki followed strength, and savagery, and this new rider was demonstrating both, ‘ _could it be our Queen is to be usurped before she even moves on King’s Landing?’_ he thought worriedly while taking note of the approving looks on the Queen’s bloodriders, all of them who, while loyal no doubt still held to the idea that a Khaleesi needed a Khal.

 

And then there was the utter panic and despair he felt as Drogon was nearly shot out of the sky and the Queen losing her grip to land into the water. ‘ _Thank the Gods,’_ he thought as the dragon rider landed Rhaegal and hurriedly waded into the water to bring the Queen atop the dragon to strap her into some sort of harness, and then the green beast of war was flying towards them and landed with a loud thump and blast of wind that almost knocked him off his poor stunted feet.

 

“Don’t just stand there,” he shouted at Qhono. “Get her off.”

 

Qhono, the mightiest of Daenerys’ bloodriders nodded, and barked out an order in dothraki at a few of his lieutenants who warily approached the growling dragon, fortunately Rhaegal permitted them to remove the Queen from the harness, but before he could try and check on her he felt an eerie feeling, as if the hairs on the back of his neck were being ruffled and he turned around just in time to watch Jaime being dismounted by the mystery rider who was now on foot.

 

“You fucking idiot,” Tyrion cursed, feeling his heart beat faster as Bronn arrived and looked close to getting the man, sending him to the ground even, before Bronn too was dismounted. He watched mesmerized as the three warrios, Bronn, his own brother Jaime, and the mystery rider got up and started to circle one another, until the rider removed his helmet and flung it away.

 

‘ _Jon Snow,’_ he thought while his actual spoken words were “What the fuck?” There was no doubt that it was Jon Snow who was probably bantering words with Jaime while Bronn was sneaking around to his back, and in the next moments Tyrion felt ice creep up his back at how easily it seemed for Jon to despatch Bronn, rather savagely too, which struck Tyrion in all the wrong ways.

 

He had liked Bronn, even when he took Cersei’s offer to avoid helping Tyrion in his trial by combat he still liked the sellsword, and having seen Bronn fight more than once, Tyrion knew that the man was a most accomplished killer, but apparently not a match for Jon Snow who finished his once friend/employee with a vicious stomp to the head that left Qhono and a few of the other dothraki muttering approvingly.

 

“Flee you fucking idiot, flee,” Tyrion muttered as Jaime faced off against Jon, he was outmatched. Jon Snow knew it, Jaime knew it, and Tyrion knew it, yet his stupid brother still insisted. What followed was what seemed to be an eternity of Jon probing and toying with Jaime, his razor sharp sword of valyrian steel _just_ missing, at one point even coming close enough that to Tyrion it looked as if Jon attempted to shave Jaime rather than kill him. And Tyrion couldn’t even blame the bastard King from the North. A lifetime of bad treatment as a bastard, with only his family to bring him joy, family that had for the mast part been brutally murdered either directly by House Lannister, or indirectly, as was the case of the Red Wedding, no, he couldn’t blame Jon Snow at all for taking his time to savour the match before going for the kill.

 

Jaime didn’t have the same understanding as he shouted at Jon, who after a moment nodded and charged in. This was something different, his moves were swifter, his strikes harder, even to Tyrion’s untrained eyes there was a whole different economy of movement now, and Jaime was now truly fighting for his life, and then Jon made a move too fast for Tyrion to actually catch. Jaime’s sword was ripped out of his hand, and then his brother screamed in agony as Jon’s sword sunk deeply into his thigh.

 

The battle was all but over at this point, the survivors of Jaime’s army were being herded towards the fight between Jon and Jaime by dothraki who were all hollering in approval at Jon who had flung his sword aside and was straddling Jaime who was on his back, landing one savage punch after another upon a defenceless Jaime’s face while letting out a scream that was laced with all the anger and pain he had felt over the years. Even at the distance he was from the beating Tyrion could see that Jaime would be lucky to survive, his entire face seemed to be red when Jon stopped, Jon’s arm raised for another punch and shaking with fury. He watched Jon finally calm down just slightly, and slowly the King in the North scooted back from Jaime, giving him a final kick right between the legs with his knee before standing and accepting both his helmet and sword, as well as Jaime’s sword from a pair of dothraki riders, moments later Rhaegal landed next to Jon and stretched out his neck towards the sky and roared while blowing up great plumes of dragonfire. Climbing up on Rhaegal’s back, Jon raised his bloody blade into the sky and screamed, prompting the dothraki to join him the words  **‘Zhavvorsa Khal’** being repeated over and over. ‘ _Yes,’_ Tyrion thought with dismay as he looked behind him to see a barely conscious Daenerys being supported by two of her bloodriders, the arrow in her shoulder gone, ‘ _this is not good at all.’_

 

** _AN:  
  
_ **

**And that's it for this chapter. I would like to apologize for everyone who are waiting rather impatiently for updates. While I would love nothing more than to be able to pump out a chapter or three a week, I do have a rather hectic schedule with work, exercise family obligations and of course, some time the inspiration just isn't there. At least as you can see I've decided against having Dany killed, son Joneryssandei is incoming sooner or later.**

 

**Also, as you can see I killed Bronn. Kinda sad to do so, as I do love the guy, but I felt that someone needed to die, especially after Cersei for some reason managed to counter every singe one of Dany's moves by killing what was essentially only 5 people (Olenna, Ellaria and the Sand Snakes) that and it helped bring out a bit to the changes in Jon's nature. I'm going partially with the whole, 'Resurrection changes you' and since R'hllor is a fire god, the 'Targaryen' side of Jon was brought out more clearly, and then finding out his whole life was a lie, a lie perpetrated by the man he admired the most, all in all, it's broken something in Jon and this is the result.**

 

**Until next time Gents.**


	3. Aftermath.

**Chapter 3:  
  
Tyrion:**

 

“This is not good,” Tyrion repeated his thoughts aloud, as he watched down on what was once a lush green and yellow field, now turned into a desolate wasteland, carpeted in a thick layer of ash. Dozens of fires scattered about made the air thick with acrid smoke, and the sweet and corpulent smell of burning flesh invaded his nostrils, a smell, he knew, would stay with him until the day he died, and all throughout this field stood thousands of dothraki riders, with half of them at the very least cheering and hailing Jon Snow who, even with his black hair, looked as inspiring as any Dragonlord of old, bloody blade raised to the sky and clad from head to toe in black plate.

 

“ _How?_ ” Daenerys whispered.

 

“Your Grace!” Tyrion could have slapped himself, but watching Jon Snow kill his former employee and beat his brother to near death had actually made him forget about his Queen, his Queen who was indubitably wounded. “We need to get you back to Dragonstone,” he said quickly.

 

“No,” Daenerys said hoarsely. “I – I need to know.” She looked at Qhorra and Jahgo, two of her other bloodriders. “ **Help me down there** ” she told them in dothraki.

 

The entire walk down was spent in silence, all of them no doubt lost in thought, Tyrion for his part was feeling the first pangs of regret. He knew of course that allying himself with Daenerys had been his best option at the time, and he was clever and charismatic enough to check her worst impulses. He’d been close enough to the dragons to realize how dangerous they were, and had seen first hand what they did to some of the Masters ships, and not once had he imagined that taking Westeros wouldn’t require blood, but to see the devastation first hand up close...to hear the screams, and smell the stench.

 

‘ _It seems a bit abstract doesn’t it? Other people dying,’_ the words he’d once given the Masters outside Mereen came back to haunt him, and it was true. He’d known that there would be casualties, but even his stint of true battle during the Battle of the Blackwater had failed to prepare him for the sheer monstrous destruction dragons could bring to the field, and for the first time, truly, he could understand why the Targaryens had remained in power for so long after their dragons died, despite being almost universally despised by the Faith and nobility alike for their incestuous ways, and for how they had usurped power that had remained mostly unchanged for thousands of years. Even if no man alive remembered them, the memory of dragons stayed with one apparently, and like a fool he’d brought the scourge back to Westeros.

 

When they finally reached Jon Snow he was in the centre of near a score of dothraki, with some of them supporting him from how they stood protectively at his back, while yet others were shouting and gesticulating angrily at him and the men with him.

 

“Hurry,” Daenerys urged as she tried to walk faster, her gait still unsteady, no doubt a result of her collision with the water.

 

Tyrion smirked slightly. For all that Jon Snow was a warrior, he had the misfortune of not being able to communicate with more than perhaps one man out of ten, and all of his detractors were shouting at him in dothraki. His mirth quickly disappeared however as two of them quickly stepped it up a notch. Instead of screaming at the northern King they stepped towards him with their arakhs raised, and he was yet again treated to the sight of Jon Snow wielding a sword. With what looked like effortless grace, at least to Tyrion’s eyes, Jon Snow diverted one strike, and actually disarmed the other man. Stepping in between the two he then sliced both of them at the back of the knees, and before Tyrion or Daenerys could attempt to stop him, he beheaded both men in one swift stroke, their heads tumbling off their suddenly boneless bodies that collapsed onto the ashen field, great jets of blood erupting from their necks.

 

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” Snow shouted. “SHEATHE YOU DAMN BLADES!” he commanded in a tone that brooked no argument, especially not with Rhaegal growling menacingly behind him, and amazingly enough the detractors lowered their blades, several of them sinking to their knees.

 

“Amazing,” Tyrion exclaimed as he and Daenerys approached cautiously.

 

Snow turned to them and gave Tyrion a grim smile, or perhaps it was Jon’s normal smile, Tyrion had yet to see the bastard King smile before so he couldn’t say. “Once you speak the language everything falls into place,” Jon said, parroting words that Tyrion had once heard from Alliser Thorne who’d had the dubious pleasure of ‘breaking in’ two recruits from some place in the east who’d been foolish enough to be caught peddling slaves by Lord Karstark.

 

Snow turned his gaze to Daenerys and his features visibly softened, and despite being clad in menacing black armour, covered in ash, blood and mud, Tyrion thought he looked more like a King of the tales than he’d ever thought before, then again, that might be because he was seeing Snow in something else than dour northern armour and pelts.

 

“Your Grace,” Jon said as he stepped close to Daenerys and placed his gauntleted hand softly on her cheek, inspecting her for further injuries.

 

‘ _Fuck, fuck fuck,’_ Tyrion swore in his mind as he saw the look of longing, and was that lust? In the Queen’s eyes and her face. ‘ _Seven Hells she’s not even trying to hide it,’_ he bemoaned as he watched her visibly shiver at Jon’s soft touch.

 

“There is much we need to speak off… aunt,” He said in a low tone, causing Tyrion’s mind to fly in a thousand directions at once, before after a moment to gather his thoughts caused Tyrion to viciously slam his face into his palm.

 

“Fucking Ned Gods be damned Stark,” he moaned despairingly. It was so damned fucking obvious that even Robert Baratheon should have figured it out, at least he could comfort himself that he was in fine company, even Littlefinger and Varys had been fooled by Ned Stark’s lie, and Cersei. Tyrion’s eyes widened before he started to snigger appreciatively.

 

“Cersei is going to go berserk,” he offered as an explanation. “For years she hated Lyanna Stark simply for the fact that Robert still loved her, but finding out that Rhaegar Targaryen is your father and Lyanna Stark is your mother...” he keeled over, barely able to stand with how hard he was laughing.

 

“Yes well,” Snow said as he scratched his neck a bit awkwardly, ‘ _There’s the Snow I remember,’_ Tyrion noted.

 

“Be that as it may Lord Tyrion there’s business to be handled here, and while I would like nothing more to get to know my aunt better, I do believe there is a better time for it than right now.”

 

“Yes,” Daenerys agreed, her face almost in awe, as well as hopeful at the revelation that she wasn’t alone after all, though Tyrion wondered how long that would last. With Jon Snow, if that was even his name having a dragon as well as two entire Kingdoms under his belt, as well as being born AND raised in Westeros, and lastly but most importantly a cock between his legs, people might very well decide he was the rightful King after all, he had after all convinced a whole lot of the dothraki. “We need to make them kneel,” Daenerys said as she managed to focus her thoughts again.

 

“Not with how you are now,” Jon said softly, before turning to one of the dothraki who had taken his side. “Get a tent, and whatever physicians you have available.”

 

“Yes Khal,” the man barked out a series of commands in his native tongue, causing several of the dothraki to break off to find what was asked for.

 

“Lord Tyrion, you know southern nobility by sight better than I do, get me the most influential Lords here, of those still living that is, and have them brought to the tent one by one.”

 

“Your Grace?” Tyrion looked questioningly at Daenerys for approval.

 

“Do it,” She said at last, still staring at her apparent nephew with a look that Tyrion couldn’t fully decipher.

 

“As you command,” Tyrion acquiesced grudgingly as he got a few of the Queen’s bloodriders to escort him as he walked towards where thousands of men were held captive, most of the gazing into the distance with glassy eyes, or shaking like leaves. ‘ _Could be a bit more considerate,’_ Tyrion thought angrily. ‘ _Notice the short legs? I’m a blasted dwarf, I’m not made for running about like a damn horse.’_

 

**Aegon:**

 

 

 

While the dothraki were scrambling to find and set up a tent or pavilion Daenerys, who looked far more lucid now almost dragged him away from the main ‘bulk’ of the horde, most of whom were already starting to spread out to start looting or try and take an account of the multitude of wagons. Finally she stopped near the small water she had fallen into earlier. “Daenerys, I -”

 

 **SMACK!** The impact of her palm on his cheek stung, and was so unexpected that he actually stumbled back to land on his arse, causing a wave of amused hoots to reach him from some of the dothraki who watched it happen in the distance.

 

“What the -”

 

“ **Silence!** ” Daenerys hissed, with a scowl as she glared at him with narrowed eyes. “Do you think me a fool **nephew**?” She asked him angrily, acknowledging the fact that he was her kin.

 

“Wha?” Jon tried to ask, only to be cut off with an even sharper ‘Silence!’ Daenerys’ rather majestic and expressive eyebrows lowered imperiously.

 

“I’m more than just a ‘foreign whore’ playing at war,” she said angrily. “Do you honestly think that I cannot send for provisions from the Bay of Dragons? I meant to burn this food to deprive Cersei of her resources, now, **thanks to you!** I’ll have to leave a large part of my dothraki here to act as escorts so that this loot train can go past King’s Landing and over to Craklaw Point.”

 

“Oh...” Aegon felt like a fool, of course she wasn’t going to reveal everything to him when she asked for his advice, and yet again it seems he had jumped to conclusions. “I...apologize.”

 

Daenerys’ expression softened slightly and she extended her uninjured arm to help him to his feet. Accepting her hand he hauled himself to his feet, and came to stand before her, _much_ closer than he’d originally intended. _‘Gods help me,’_ he thought nervously as he stared into her captivating purple eyes,feeling his blood rush south when Dany suddenly reached out to caress the throbbing side of his cheek with the back of her fingers.

  


"Daenerys, I -" Aegon tried once more, but the beginnings of his apology were halted not with a slap, but with a gentle finger to his lips. The soft, almost sweet look in her beautiful eyes rendered him speechless, and suddenly wanting nothing more than to press his lips against hers her, Aegon reached out to cup her own face between his hands, stroking her cheekbones with his thumbs as he watched her lick her lips.

"I forgive you," she said with an impish grin as she stopped him mere inches before his lips could touch hers. "Come nephew," she said as she took a step back, letting out a tinkering laugh at his disappointed expression. "There is yet work to be done."

 

Aegon groaned when she simply left him hanging and started to walk back to where a large tent was being set up, and as he hastened to catch up to her, all while trying to readjust his painfully tight trousers he was certain that he heard a low giggle from her. One thing was for certain, being related to her was not likely to make things easier for him.

 

 

**Jaime:**

 

 

As Jaime began to wake he was immediately reminded as to how he lost consciousness in the first place. His left eye was completely swollen shut, several of his teeth were either broken or had been smashed out of his mouth, his face felt like several people had been stomping on it, and the pain that came from his crotch made him let out a whimper as he woke. His body ached so much he could barely move a muscle without feeling like he was still getting the shit kicked out of him. _‘_ _This was more humiliating than Bronn’s ‘lessons’,’_ he thought, only to feel sick. He would never see Bronn again, nor hear him bitch about his missing castle. Rhaegar’s bastard that Ned had hidden as his own had seen to that.

 

The flap to his tent then opened and Tyrion entered. "He certainly did a number on you, didn't he? Tyrion said as he sat beside him, looking simultaneously amused and worried.

 

  


"Appears so. What will happen to me now? Am I to become a prisoner? Hostage? Or am I to be executed?" Jaime slurred angrily while trying to lift his hand to beat his brother to death, alas his hands were bound behind his back.

  


"Undecided,” Tyrion admitted, his face still somewhat frowning.

  


"Then why are you here, little brother?" he asked as he closed his right eye.

  


"I came here to check on the only family I have left. To try and convince you to join us." Tyrion told him.

  


"Join you?! You killed our father!" Jaime spat as he turned to look at Tyrion.

  


"Yes, I did. He tried to have me killed for a crime I didn't commit." Tyrion said as he looked away from him. "And he was fucking the woman I loved."

  


"What?" Jaime asked aloud in surprise.

  


"I bet you didn't know that little fact, did you? If a man tried to kill you and then proceeded to fuck Cercei, wouldn't you kill him?" Tyrion asked.

  


"That's no reason to betray your family,” Jaime countered. He was too angry to try and listen to Tyrion’s unwanted reasoning.

  


"And it's right what he tried to do to me, is that it?" Tyron asked darkly, his face turned towards the floor.

  


"I didn't say that."

  


"You might as well have." Tyrion said before letting out a heavy sigh. "I did not come here to argue with you, Jaime."

  


"No, you cam here to tell me to betray our family."

  


Tyrion released another heavy sigh before saying, "Jaime, your the only family I have left. Well, the only family I have left that I actually like. I don't want to watch you die."

  


He scoffed then before saying, "And how do you know your King and Queen won't just burn me alive like Aerys would have with their dragons?"

  


“They’re not Aerys,” Tyrion countered. “You yourself met Snow, you’ve spoken with him before, did he seem like the person who giggle madly while burning men, women or children alive?”

  


“No,” Jaime admitted surly, “but then again, I never imagined that surly bastard caving in a man’s head with his boot, nor beat **me** half to death after the fact either…”

  


Tyrion winced at the reminder of what they’d witnessed Snow do to Bronn. “Considering **everything** our family has done to him you should count yourself fortunate that he only beat you half to death.” Tyrion said. “Shall we see?” he asked mockingly as he started to hold up his fingers. “Our ‘beloved’ father had his siblings brutally butchered when he took King’s Landing, forcing the boy to grow up as a bastard who was scorned by his stepmother, you, and everyone else. Then of course, simply because **you** and our _**whore**_ sister, his at the time brother Brandon was tossed from a window and when that wasn’t enough an assassin was sent to knife him in the night. Hi apparent father was beheaded thanks to your cunt of a bastard son, his other brother murdered at our father’s behest during a wedding, Sansa married off to me and later sold to Ramsay Snow to be his plaything, his favourite sister probably ended up in a bowl’o brown or dead in a ditch somewhere, and lastly his youngest brother Rickon was killed right in front of him,” Tyrion let out a heavy breath. “Truly, your love for Cersei’s cunt and her inability to take Robert’s seed and of course our father’s ambition has caused him and the rest of the surviving Starks so much pain that I’m amazed you haven’t been burned alive, or hell, even flayed with salt poured into your wounds, Should I continue?” He asked brazenly, “we’ve yet to go over what Daenerys have gone through after all.”

  


“SHUT UP,” Jaime roared, every accusation stinging worse than the last, and he knew, he just **knew** that Rhaegar, Arthur, and every other man he had looked up to were looking down at him with clear disappointment in their eyes.

  


“Is this truly the man you want to die as?” Tyrion questioned. “Kingslayer, sister fucker, a man serving a madwoman, by the Gods Jaime, she may not have pushed Tommen from that window but it’s her actions alone that is the reason for Tommen’s death.”

  


“Get out,” Jaime snarled, “I wish to be alone.”

  


“Fine,” Tyrion said as he took a step back and spread his arms defensively. “But you’ll have a choice to make rather soon. Loyalty to our sister who is just as bad as Aerys from what you’ve told me, or the only two people who can make Westeros a better place.”

  


**Daenerys:**

  


“When did you find out?” Daenerys asked suddenly after Jon, if that was even his name, caught up with her.

  


“The day after you left,” he admitted after a momentary pause.

  


“And you just...decided to try and ride Rhaegal to my rescue?” she pressed, raising a doubtful eyebrow while sneaking another glance at him. ‘ _He makes it look so easy,’_ she remarked to herself. That handsome face, always in control, always calm, whereas she felt like she was paddling desperately at times, and she found herself envying how he managed to remain so calm. ‘ _Although...’_ she thought suddenly, her certainly hadn’t seemed calm earlier when he tried to kiss her, and part of her still felt furious that she had denied him, but if... **when** it happened, it would be on her terms, ‘ _later nephew,’_ she thought with a slight grin, already looking forward to see that hungry look on his face again, the look that was more beast than man.

  


“The ride on Rhaegal happened the night before actually,” He admitted as he started to launch into an explanation of what had happened since he first rode Rhaegal and she had to give him props, he even managed to mention the… incident when she and Missy had come across him ‘polishing’ his ‘sword’ without blushing. ‘ _I’ll get a better look later,’_ she thought to herself, barely restraining a giggle.

  


That they now had several tonnes of gold stashed away at Dragonstone wasn’t unwelcome news either, Cersei was no doubt going to be furious at the loss. She felt a flash of sympathy run through her. It had been hard enough for her to reconcile herself with the fact that her father was a monster. So how must Jon feel. That the aunt he had thought to have been abducted, raped and murdered was his mother, and that his father was a Targaryen Prince? That the man who had raised him had spent all his life lying to him, not even telling him his mother’s name. ‘ _At least I always knew who my mother was,’_ Dany thought, Jon hadn’t even had the certainty of knowing that his other had loved him at all.

  


“Is your name even Jon?” she questioned.

  


“Aegon,” he said with a slight twitch of his lip that Dany couldn’t interpret. “I don’t know what to think, perhaps my” - he swallowed - “mother thought to honour my murdered elder brother.”

  


Dany winced, at times she had wondered what her life would’ve been like if the rebellion never happened. ‘ _Mayhap I would be married to Aegon,’_ she had thought more than once only to let out a snort of laughter. “I apologize,” she said quickly as she saw the wounded look on Jon – Aegon’s – face. “I often thought when I was younger that if things had been different, I might have been wed to Aegon,” she smirked slightly at him, “tis still possible it seems.” By the Gods that flush was marvellous to look at. Her nephew’s face was red as a tomato, and his lean and strong frame was stiffened, either in panic or shock, or mayhap even both.

  


“We can speak more of this later,” he stammered.

  


“No,” she said, feeling her temper rise again. “You say you are my brother’s son, and I can certainly see more than a few traits. Your dark hair hides them well if you don’t expect it and know what to look for, and you ride one of my children,” she let out a harsh breath. “There will be men who will be more willing to bend the knee to you over me, a _foreign invader_ ” she spat. “I will not give up everything I’ve fought for just like that.”

  


“I don’t want the Iron Throne,” he snarled, his hands clenched tightly at his side while his face darkened and became something... _else._ Dany shivered at the new look on the King in the North’s face, there was something undeniably _Viserys_ like about it, especially with the way his hair even seemed to be styled the same way now that it was loose from it’s tight bun, albeit black rather than silver gold. “I didn’t ask to be made King in the North, or Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. I **never** asked for it.”

  


He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths to calm himself, his features turning from rage to his usual brooding melancholy. “I never even wanted to stay in the North,” he admitted, causing Dany to let out a small gasp. “Oh aye,” he chuckled morosely. “Ever since I returned from beyond the Wall and found myself as Lord Commander there’s been one thing after another, I begged them, all of those ‘proud and honourable’ northern Lords,” he spat on the ground at the mention of them. “I begged them for men to man the Wall, none answered.”

  


They had arrived at a large tent that had been erected for them and Aegon walked in first, where a few Essosi healers stood ready to assist her. Grimacing in pain, Dany let them help her out of her garments, snorting briefly as Aegon’s face flushed and he turned around quickly to avoid looking at her. “Keep talking,” she said through gritted teeth. “It helps distract me from the – hngh – pain,” she bit out when one of the healers dabbed a warm cloth coated in some foul smelling liquid onto her shoulder wound.

  


“Right yes,” Aegon said as he turned instinctively, only to spin around again at the sight of her bare chest, causing the healers to let out rather amused sniggers. “The northern Lords yes,” he mumbled as he searched for the right words. “All of them bleating about their honour and pride, and yet who came to the aid of House Stark when it needed it the most?” he said angrily.

  


“My sister, cousin,” he corrected himself. “And myself, we sent out ravens to every house in the North, **none** of them even gave us a reply. Of the houses we made personal visits to only five actually supplied us with men. Men that even when put together wasn’t even half of the number of Freefolk I had with me. My cousin, a boy of eleven whom I’ve loved as a baby brother was shot just a few feet in front of me and **WHERE WERE THEY!** ”

  


Dany shivered, as he released the rage he had been holding in for so long. His entire frame shaking with fury. “Then why stay?” she asked him. “Stay with me, **help** me take back the throne that rightfully belongs to us. Fight here in the south, so that when the time comes we can marshal the full might of Westeros and turn back… turn back the dead.” She grimaced slightly, she didn’t want to believe him when he spoke of them. Yet the carvings in that cave, even the burning and sincere look in his eyes and grave voice as he spoke of them, how could she not believe.

  


“Might be for the best,” he admitted. “That was partially why I came to help for this battle. I know,” he swallowed. “I know you cannot just drop everything and move North, not with Cersei still here, and though I may not have known you long you are family and I… well, I won’t let more of my family die.”

  


“Thank you,” she replied, all while wondering about what he had meant to say before he stopped himself. “I mean to be Queen of all the Seven Kingdoms, I won’t leave the North to fight and die alone against the dead.” She licked her lips nervously for a moment. “So you’ll stay?” she asked hopefully, “you’ll not leave me all alone here in the south?”

  


“No,” he admitted at last. “There’s no place for me in Winterfell any more… everywhere I turn I keep expecting to see old familiar faces, all of them long gone now.” He let out a troubled sigh. “Part of me will always belong to the North, it’s been my home all my life, but I myself cannot remain.”

  


Dany knew how he felt. For a long time all she had wanted was to return to Braavos to the house with the red door and the lemon tree in the garden, but it wasn’t home any longer, not truly. They devolved into silence after that last confession, both of them lost in their own thoughts and memories, which was a good distraction and helped her through the pain of one of the men attending her managed to set the bone in her arm and force a vile tasting concoction down her throat. Once they had finished she redressed herself, sighing mournfully at her now rather dirty and bloodstained outfit.

  


“Worry not My Queen,” Aegon said with a slight smile. “You look more a warrior this way, which will hopefully help us when we speak with the captured nobles.”

  


Dany gave him a weak grin as she took a seat behind a small table that had been set up while Aegon decided to remain standing beside her, his sword of valyrian steel stuck into the ground with a hand resting on the pommel, his other hand holding the rather marvellously crafted dragonhelm at his side. Seeing Tyrion poke his nose into the tent Dany gestured for him to join them. “Bring them in.”

 

**Well, I felt this was as good a place as any to end it. Next chapter will be negotiating with the Lords who were captured.**

 

**Until next time.**


	4. Bend the fooking knee...or else.

**Disclaimer: Nope, still no money being made.**

 

**The She Wolves of Winterfell:**

 

 

“Do you know why I’ve asked for you to come here?” Sansa asked her younger sister coolly, her face set in a cold mask and her voice as frozen as winter itself.

 

“No,” Arya retoreted with an unconcerned shrug of her shoulders, as if they were discussing something as casual as the weather, Sansa’s rigid and disapproving posture not concerning the younger of the two Stark ladies one bit.

 

“I **told** you,” Sansa snapped, losing her calm for a moment. “I damn well _**told**_ you that we cannot just go around killing anyone who disagrees with us.”

 

Arya raised a mocking eyebrow, “and who is it that I’ve allegedly killed now?” she asked as she leaned casually against the weirwood tree, absently flipping the dragonbone handled dagger that Bran had given her in her hand.

 

“You know damn well who – stop that!” Sansa snapped, Arya’s constant toying with her dagger getting on Sansa’s last nerve, just like when they were innocent children, well Sansa at any rate. Though no murderer, and wholly naive of the world, the term ‘innocent’ had never truly applied to Arya, too much mischief in her. “Do you think the Lords of the Vale won’t investigate, or demand justice for Lord Baelish?”

 

“Baelish is dead?” Arya asked with a shocked gasp.

 

Sansa snorted. If she didn’t know her younger sister all too well she’d almost buy the look of innocence on her face. “You know he’s dead, you killed him, **after** I explicitly told you not to.”

 

“Would I do that?” Arya mocked.

 

Sansa’s eyes rose in disbelief. Baelish had been found dead less than an hour previously. “So according to you, Baelish must have somehow slipped while walking down the stairs on the walls, cracked his head opn on the steps and them tumbled off to impale himself on the prongs of the brazier next to the wall in the courtyard?” she asked rhetorically, almost laughing at the sheer absurdity of it all.

 

“The stairs can be tricky during winter,” Arya said simply. “Any southerner not careful can slip on the ice.”

 

“There **was no ice** ” Sansa barked furiously, “do you have **any** idea how the others will react to this?”

 

“He was plotting to betray Jon,” Arya roared back furiously, finally losing her patience for this little charade of hers.

 

“Of course he was,” Sansa stated as a matter of fact, causing Arya to gape stupidly at her sister.

 

“I’ve known since we took over Winterfell. A large number of the servants, knights and lords he’s spoken with have reported to me.”

 

“Wha? But...”

 

“I’ve been _playing_ him Arya, cutting off the head of the snake is all well and good, but now I won’t have the chance to find out just how **deep** his webs go, I wanted to find out who were loyal to him and who were coerced into serving him… Now we have to treat _anyone_ affiliated with Littlefinger with suspicion, nor can we be sure of how many of the northern lords he’s actually swayed to see his side of things.”

 

“Oh...” Arya looked sheepish for a moment, much like she’d done when they were children and she (and most often Jon as well) had been caught doing something they really shouldn’t have done. “I didn’t know.”

 

“No you didn’t,” Sansa retorted. “Because you didn’t ask me, you still see me as nothing more than the **stupid** little cunt who wanted to marry Joffrey,” he face twisted with disgust at the reminder of her previous foolishness when she was naught but a girl not even flowered. “You still think I want to depose Jon, to stab him in the back,” Sansa narrowed her eyes. “Jon is **my** brother just as he is yours, even if I treated him like a bitch when I was younger,” she said fiercely, neglecting to inform Arya that she knew the truth about Jon’s parentage. She didn’t feel it right to tell Arya, not until Jon himself could decide what to do about that information, nor did she want to be the one to break Arya’s heart by telling her that Jon wasn’t actually their brother.

 

“I like this side of you,” Arya admitted grudgingly.

 

“What side?” Sansa asked curiously.

 

“The old you wouldn’t have cursed if it meant to save your life, now look at you, saying cunt and bitch in a single day.”

 

Sansa giggled slightly while instinctively looking around, almost as if she was expecting mother or Septa Mordane to show up, full of choler at discovering Sansa doing anything ‘unladylike’. “I guess you bring out the worst in me,” Sansa said mournfully before sharing a grin that was identical to the one on Arya’s face. “Now,” Sansa said as she extended her hand to her sister, “Shall we go in and face the music?”

 

“Yes,” Arya said, sheathing her dagger and lacing arms with Sansa. “Come boy,” she shouted to Ghost who had been lying on the ground beside them, gazing hopefully at both of them, as if hoping for a good rub down.

 

“Jon’s gonna be angry when he returns,” Sansa said guiltily as they walked back towards the keep, Ghost trotting happily behind them, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. “We’ve spoiled Ghost far too much it seems.”

 

“Ghost deserves it,” Arya said defiantly, “isn’t that right boy?” she asked Ghost as she turned and embraced the direwolf that was by now as large as a horse, kneading his neck and ears, causing the large frightening beast to become as docile as a young kitten, his tail wagging furiously at the attention.

 

“You’re hopeless,” Sansa muttered, refusing to acknowledge the fact that ever since arriving at Castle Black she hadn’t spent a single night without Ghost in her bed, cuddling up to the big direwolf was better than any pile of furs or blankets in the whole world, and the wolf would rather die than let her come to harm. “But you’re right, Ghost deserves it,” she admitted as she joined in petting him, almost letting out a shrieked as an almost impish look came across Ghost’s features and moments later the direwolf had both her and Arya at his mercy on the ground, furiously licking their faces. After a few moments he stood back and proudly observed his handiwork. Both Sansa and Arya were covered in slobber, and their hair was in dire need of attention.

 

Taking a rather longer time than they wanted Sansa and Arya finally made it into the great hall from a side entrance, upon which both of them nearly lost their temper. Standing in front of the high table stood Lords Glover, Royce, Corbray, Cerwyn and Belmore, all of them looking mutinously at Bran who was sitting behind the high table with his face as impassive as ever. Maester Wolkan stood at Bran’s side, his eyes flitting nervously at the gathered Lords and the large amount of northmen in the hall who _weren’t_ standing with Glover and Royce.

 

“The King has been gone for too long already,” Glover sulked. “Just like his brother he ran south as soon as he could.”

 

“We came North for Lady Sansa,” Royce continued, “And you My Lord is the rightful Lord of Winterfell at any rate, mayhap we acted in haste when we crowned your brother King.”

 

“And Jon **never** laid claim to the Lordship of Winterfell,” Sansa said coolly, both her and Arya stepping into the room properly to slowly approach the powerful Lords who had proven to be Jon’s fiercest detractors. “And unless you forget _My Lord_ my brother, the one whom you so **tearfully** **begged** forgiveness from is in the south to get us the weapons we need if we are to face the Long Night.”

 

More than a few, Royce and Glover the loudest of them, snorted. “Snarks and Grumpkins,” Belmore muttered.

 

Arya drew her dagger and made a few impressive spins and twirls with it before lovingly running her finger along it in a lovers caress. “Are you calling my brother a liar My Lord?” she asked softly while gazing hungrily at Belmore, the light in her eyes and savage grin promising dire retribution if only she got the excuse.

 

“N-no My Lady,” Belmore recanted swiftly, “Only-”

 

“Only what?” Sansa asked as she too started to circle the five Lords, Ghost doggin her steps while gazing unerringly at them, his red eyes unblinking. Glover took an angry step towards her before hurriedly stepping back as Ghost got right into his face, licking his chops. Sansa smirked as the dour northman paled when standing nose to nose with the large wolf, Ghost’s teeth almost as long as his fingers, and razor sharp, ready to tear out his throat with naught but a word from Arya or Sansa.

 

“I remember Lord Glover,” Sansa said darkly. “We came to your keep to ask for your aid to remove the man who would flay the entirety of the North on a whim. The North Remembers, they say in the south,” she spat at the floor right in front of Glover. “Horseshit I say,” she continued, causing many to gape at her words, while some, like Lyanna Mormont and Wyman Manderly sniggered approvingly.

 

“I wouldn’t laugh if I were you Lord Manderly,” Sansa snarled. “You didn’t even deign to reply to our request for aid, and all of you should count yourself fortunate that my brother is far less vengeful than I, you see, Jon, your **KING** still sees the value in mercy. Me… I don’t see the point in being lenient with _traitors_ ,” she turned her eyes back to Glover. “Ghost,” she barked, and the direwolf snarled and leapt on the Lord, bearing him to the ground and had his throat in his maw, causing the northern Lord to squeal in fright.

 

“Next time you as much as _hint_ at betraying your King again and I’ll have Ghost finish the job, **Is. That. Understood?** ”

 

“Yes, Gods yes,” Glover pleaded as a foul stench hit their noses, he had soiled himself.

 

“Good,” Sansa said. “Someone escort Lord Glover to a bath and make sure he has some fresh trousers.”

 

The inhabitants in the room pounded the tables repeatedly while sniggering approvingly at her actions while the now red faced and trembling Lord allowed himself to be escorted from the hall.

 

“And Lord Baelish,” Royce asked, his lips twitching minutely. “Has there been any investigation into his murder?”

 

“Murder?” Sansa asked, appreciating the irony of it now being her who ahd to mirror Arya from earlier. “From what I understand, Lord Baelish slipped in the stairs and cracked open his head on the steps before tumbling off the wall. The men in charge of sanding the wall to cover up any ice will be flogged for their negligence, that’s all that can be done My Lord.”

 

Royce sighed mournfully, a rather masterful mummery for the man who was almost as rigid as her own father in his honour. “A tragic accident then,” he said, his fellow Valemen sharing his expression of false sadness. “Young Lord Robert will be devastated.”

 

“Yes,” Sansa said, “But with his uncle by marriage dead, my cousin must need have another caretaker until he comes of age,” she looked shrewdly at Royce, “mayhap you would care to continue his tutelage My Lord? Until cousin Robert is ready to take over his duties of running the Vale?”

 

Royce bowed deeply, “twould be an honour to continue to care for your kin My Lady.”

 

Sansa nodded while giving her best smile, the one that had even manage to soften the faces of the redcloaks in the Red Keep. “Then I look forward to my cousin coming to Winterfell to page for you, now, if there is nothing else, let us have some food brought in so that we can… mourn, Lord Baelish’s passing.”

 

 

**The Last Dragons:**

 

“Lord Mathis Rowan,” Tyrion said as a stout man with a receding hairline was escorted into the tent. The snowy surcoat he wover over his armour was stained with soot and blood, much like his face, and the golden tree seemed worn and faded, yet even as the two dothraki dragging him threw him to the floor he still managed to look up on Dany and Aegon with a look of defiance, but strangely also hope and pride.

 

“I assume you know why you are before us My Lord?” Dany asked as she took the lead.

 

“You want me to bend the knee,” Rowan aired correctly.

 

“Indeed,” Dany said imperiously. “As well as to know why you chose to betray your rightful liege Lord, the Lannisters became the enemies of House Tyrell the moment Cersei killed Lord Mace and his children by blowing up the Sept of Baelor.”

 

“You think I did so by choice?” Rowan hissed angrily. “Lord Tarly invited Ser Garlan and his wife to Horn Hill in lie of discussing how the Reach were to respond to Cersei’s dispicable actions. Instead he cravenly took them captive. After Lady Olenna and Lord Willas were killed during the Sack of Highgarden Ser Garlan became my rightful Liege, if I or any of my fellow Lords were to refuse Tarly he would’ve had both Ser Garland and his Lady wife executed.”

 

Aegon frowned with distaste. “I already knew Randyll Tarly was a cunt,” he said darkly, but that he would sink to the level of the Freys, to become an oathbreaker and violator of guestright...” he shook his head. “Madness, madness and stupidity.”

 

“And what of you?” Rowan asked sardonically. “Last I knew, the vows of the Night’s Watch were for life, and yet here you are, ‘Lord Snow.’

 

“Can a mask truly swear an oath?” Aegon countered, and Dany shivered slightly at the… _fire_ that laced his tone. “I am Aegon Targaryen,” he said, causing Rowan’s mouth to drop in shock, “the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, lied to all my life by the uncle who called me ‘son’, spat on by the likes of **you** for my supposed bastardry. Can a lie swear any such oath and be expected to keep them?”

 

“This… I – this is welcome news,” Rowan stuttered. “I – we, all served your father and grandfather loyally in the Rebellion.”

 

“Then serve us now,” Dany said. “Bend the knee My Lord, and I promise that Lord Garlan will be freed and pardoned for his family serving not one but **two** usurpers the last years.”

 

Rowan had the good sense to look down at the floor with shame at the harsh reminder. “I swear Your Graces, House Targaryen shall never have a more loyal man than I should you see fit to pardon me, I swear it, by the Old Gods and the New.”

 

Aegon desperately wanted to scoff, he had heard such before in the North after all, but to ridicule a man so recently broken on the battlefield, a man whom had served his liege Lord faithfully until said Lord was held captive… well, to mock him now would be far more damaging to their overall cause than not.

 

“You’ll have that very chance My Lord,” Dany said graciously, causing Rowan to lift his gaze from the floor. “Until Ser Garlan is returned safe and sound, you would be the commander of whatever forces remain from the Reach.”

 

“Yo-your Grace,” Rowan knelt even lower if that was possible, his eyes actually glistening. “I shall not fail in this task of which you have honoured me with.”

 

“Good,” Daenerys gave a slight nod. “As a start you can speak with your fellow Lords of the Reach whom you think would be amenable to following us -”

 

“In the meantime,” Aegon interjected, “we will deal with Lord Tarly.”

 

“May he burn in the Seven Hells,” Rowan snarled as he got to his feet and bowed deeply at Dany and Aegon, “Your Graces,” he said before leaving the tent.

 

“Bring in Tarly,” Aegon told Tyrion calmly, waiting until Tyrion left he placed a hand on Dany’s shoulder. “I know exactly how to deal with Tarly.”

 

“Oh?” she asked him, raising one of those majestic eyebrows, such a simple action, yet one that undeniably stirred what Aegon now knew to be the dragonsblood in him, something only Ygritte and on a few occasions the freefolk woman Val had been able to do to him before.

 

“Yes,” he replied, a rare smirk stretching across his face, one that would’ve made Arya return an almost identical one in response when they were children. “Lord Tarly is a proud man, and I know exactly what will sway him.”

 

“I look forward to seeing it,” Dany said eagerly, almost too eagerly some might say, the smirk on her face anything but benign.

 

“IF you two are quite finished with your demented version of foreplay,” Tyrion said tiredly from where he was stood next to two men, one older, tall and broad and near bald, while the other one was of similar size, though with a full head of hair, and Aegon imagined he could spot a few similarities to Sam in both men. They shared the same eyes, and the man who must be Dickon Tarly had the same hair. “Lord Tarly and his son Rickon,” Tyrion said.

 

“Dickon -” the young man groused causing Aegon and Dany to both break out into near identical chuckles of mirth.

 

“You did that on purpose,” Dany accused Tyrion warningly when she spotted the twitching of his lips.

 

“I’ve no idea what you speak of Your Grace,” Tyrion said smoothly as he backed out of the tent.

 

“You can spare your empty words,” Lord Tarly almost snarled the moment Tyrion disappeared. “Say what you want about Cersei, at least she was born in this country while you,” he looked at Dany first. “A foreign invader, bringing an army of eunuchs and savages to our land while you,” he looked at Aegon. “A bastard oathbreaker from the savage North, I’ll not bend the knee to either of you.”

 

“You are mistaken my Lord,” Aegon said coldly as he stepped around the table to stand before Tarly, letting him get a good look at not just the armour he wore, but his eyes and face. “My **aunt** Daenerys **was** born in this country, in **our** ancestral home. Yes you see it now don’t you?” he asked Tarly once he saw the light of recognition appear on the aged Lord’s face. “Ned Stark’s greatest deception, whom would have ever thought honourable Ned Stark would lie straight to Robert Baratheon’s face.”

 

He halted before Randyll Tarly and gave him a punch straight in the jaw that sent the large man reeling, the follow up punch to the chin sent him on his back. “ **That** was for Sam,” Aegon growled. "And speaking of oathbreakers, you are an oathbreaker yourself My Lord, and a betrayer of guest right as well. Perhaps you didn’t offer bread and salt before arresting Garlan Tyrell, but one can argue that an offer of council together between friends comes with an offer of guest right, or so history will remember at least.”

 

Dickon at the very least looked ashamed, staring resolutely at the floor with his head bowed. “Neither Daenerys nor I will trust a man such as you in our armies, nor to rule a castle, but there are ways you can serve.”

 

“What?” Tarly spat. “Take the black? My ancestors would weep at the dishonour.”

 

“They are already turning in their graves,” Aegon shot back. “You call me an oathbreaker, and yet, you betrayed your Liege, you serve a Queen who fucked her brother and presented her bastards as her husband’s own offspring, a woman who murdered the Queen you were sworn to, your own Liege Lord’s daughter, as well as her own uncle and her son, making her a Kinslayer twice over.”

 

“Joffrey was murdered by the Imp,” Tarly protested.

 

“I speak not of Joffrey,” Aegon said coldly. “Strange is it not? The Sept of Baelor is destroyed, with Margaery inside and in the same day Tommen, her last son dies as well, leaving her route to the throne open, yes, now you understand the depths she is willing to sink to,” he remarked as Tarly’s face grew ever more horrified.

 

“Bend the knee My Lord of Horn Hill,” Aegon whispered as he knelt beside Tarly, one hand grasping the old Lord’s shoulder. “And we will let Dickon become it’s next Lord, provided he agrees to wed someone we consent to, refuse however…” Aegon’s calming smile twisted into a victorious nasty grin. “Refuse and I will release Sam from the Night’s Watch, I will pardon him of any crime and restore him to Horn Hill, and legitimize his wildling bastard, imagine, a wildling bastard running through the halls of your fathers one day swinging Heartsbane wasn’t it? In my defense.”

 

“No…” Tarly almost begged. “I’ll do it, I’ll swear myself to you, just promise me, promise that _that wildling_ will **never** inherit Horn Hill.”

 

Aegon stood, grinning slightly at Daenerys who was looking at him with burning heavy lidded eyes. “You understand the terms then Lord Tarly?” Aegon asked to be sure. “You’ll take the Black, forswear any rights to lands or title, and you’ll lead however many volunteers from the survivors today up north to the Wall?”

 

“I do,” he said as he manoeuvred himself into a kneeling position, his head bowed. “I swear to uphold your terms.”

 

“Your son as well,” Dany shot back, “He’ll kneel here and now, and swear to release Garlan Tyrell unconditionally.”

 

Dickon Tarly nodded heavily before sinking to one knee. “I – Dickon T-Tarly of Horn Hill, do hereby swear my eternal allegiance to House Targaryen, to follow their every command without question, with all of my blood that might follow me swearing to do such as well.”

 

“Good enough,” Dany said after a moment’s pause. “ **Remove them from my sight,** ” she barked in dothraki at one of her bloodriders. “Tyrion, deal with the rest of the people here, Lords and commoners alike-”

 

“Try to get a few to take the Black,” Aegon interjected, grinning slightly as Dany shot him a not altogether angry glare.

 

“ **WE** ” she continued, shooting a warning glare at Aegon, “Will fly to Dragonstone, we have… matters to discuss.”

 

“Right,” Tyrion said as he turned to follow the two Tarlys. “Note to myself, don’t go near their chambers for at least a week,” he muttered sardonically to himself, his mutterings eventually disappearing as he walked out of the tent.

 

“Come… _nephew,_ ” Dany said alluringly as while motioning him to come towards her with a single finger.

 

“Dany…” Aegon almost groaned as he stepped close to her, entwining his arms around her. He leaned his forehead against her own, his almost black eyes gazing deeply into her own violet ones. “ _Dany...”_ his cock was throbbing painfully in his all to tight trousers.

 

“Shhh,” Dany comforted him before kissing him deeply.

 

They both moaned the moment their mouths opened to let the other’s tongue enter. Aegon was vaguely aware of lifting Dany off the ground, causing her to wrap her legs around his waist, all the while their tongues duelled for dominance in the scorching heat of each other’s mouths. “We should stop,” Dany spoke with laboured breaths after they separated, “this – is – hardly – the – place,” she panted, each word punctuated by a desperate kiss on his lips or his neck. “Fuck,” she gasped as Aegon grasped her arse with a needy hand, hungrily massaging her covered fleshy cheeks.

 

“Yes,” Aegon agreed as he too continued to kiss and suckle at her lips and neck, leaving several love bites all over her neck. “We – should – return – to – Dragonstone.” It was only due to a mutual herculean effort that the pair of them managed to separate, their faces equally flushed, and their hair was in disarray.

 

“I see this is not your first time,” Dany remarked with a flushed grin.

 

“Don’t,” Aegon groaned, he did **not** want to think on sex right now. “Not unless you wish for me to Take. You. Right. Here,” he bit out warningly, all the while grinning at how her flush deepened and her eyes burned brighter at the image her mind conjured forth.

 

“Yes,” Dany said after calming down slightly. “Dragonstone would be better.” Both of them walked out towards where Rhaegal and Drogon sat at the ready, that bigger black dragon more than eager to fly, his wound already covered with crusty scar tissue. After one last searing kiss that had both dragons roar proudly towards the heavens, they separated and climbed their chosen mount, and with a simultaneous ‘sōves’ they were hurtling through the air towards Dragonstone...”

 

**AN:  
  
** **Right, so apparently some people are freaking out or calling me this or that because of the damn order of the tags...or even telling me that I need to remove the 'Jonerys' tag because this is the only story with a Jonerys tag that is't 'pure' Jonerys right??? that was a joke btw.**

 

**As for the tags, I honestly had no clue that the order in which a relationship appeared in the tags even meant jack shit, but I guess that's what I get for not paying attention, bu lo and behold, I have 'fixed' the tag for those of you who freaked out. I should now be in the 'proper' order. As for those waiting/wondering about Jon/Missandei or even Jonersyssandei, just wait, it'll come, and there will be a 'believable' excuse for it too, or at least as believable as is needed for what is basically a semi serious crackfic.**

**A few of you also commented on Jon abandoning the North, and I guess I can see where you are coming from. Now let me make myself clear, he's not 'abandoning' the North. He will return, what he *is* saying is that Winterfell is not his home anymore. In some ways it never was. I can't remember about the show, but in the books he has 'regular' nightmares where he is down in the crypts and the old dead Starks are 'judging' him and finding him unworthy, whispering about how he is unwelcome. It's this, as well as the constant reminder of his childhood that simply makes Winterfell a painful place for him to live, nor does he want to deal with the Northern Lords any more than he have to, after all, most of him gave him a big Fuck You, both when he asked for men for the Wall, and later for men to rescue Rickon and take back Winterfell. He's simply had it with those stubborn prejudiced bastards ruling the various northern houses. He's also smart enough to realize that with Cersei and Euron still around, just up and leaving for the North is a good way to get the only ally he truly has, stabbed in the back and crippled, because as Dany says in the show, the moment she pulls her armies north is the moment Cersei sweeps in to take back all the lands she lost, and for all the the WW are returning, there's still a big ass wall of ice separating them from the rest of the world, and I can assure you. I won't have the NK solo Viserion with a spear that he ha can apparently throw longer and harder than a fucking siege engine, while still of course being 'weak' enough that someone can actually face him in single combat.**

 

**Yeah, Viserion's death was a lazy move by D &D in my opinion. Done simply to give the NK a 'fighting' chance, as well as provide a somewhat lame excuse for Jon to bend the knee, because some of the contemporary snowflakes would probably rebel if Jon didn't bend the knee to Dany for some reason *shrugs* I didn't mind Jon doing it tbh, but I *did* mind the piss poor excuse of events that lead to it, and would have preferred somewhat better story writing that would have made him bend the knee. Ahh well, enough about that I'll probably even offend someone with this comment alone *shrugs again***

 

**But yes, Jonno will return to the north. After all can't leave Ghost all alone up there, good doggo that he is. Jon needs his boi back.**

 

**And that's that. I hope everyone enjoyed this update, and if you for some inexplicable reason finds yourself insulted, offended and/or triggered at some of my thoughts here in the author's note...well, that's your right i suppose.**

 

**PS: I had to get the 'Dickon' joke in somehow didn't I?**


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